


Promises

by Just A Couple Of Death Priests (WalkOnThroughARedParade)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: And he would be unable to stand Syx but she would be obsessed with him!!!!!!, Everything I hear about Bramblepelt makes me love him!!!, Gen, In which I violently shoe-horn my own character into Umby's world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkOnThroughARedParade/pseuds/Just%20A%20Couple%20Of%20Death%20Priests
Summary: “You love your Sparrowflight.” When Bramble nodded, she cocked her head, a corner of her mouth curling up. “You are being frightened he may be dead.”Alternatively; In Which You Meet The Strangest People In Taverns





	Promises

“Your friends are being most intriguing. The big one is going to make the barkeep open another keg, she is thinking.”

Bramblepelt startled, head jerking up and away from where he’d been staring into his mug; and frowned at the sight he was confronted with.

Bright purple eyes peered back at him, and the white Tiefling who had managed to drop into the seat opposite him without him noticing propped her chin up on her hands, elbows resting on the table. There was something more in her smile, in the slow, syrupy way it spread across her face, the basic curiosity all surface, masking something else; but the tilt to her head was playful and non-threatening, and Bramble was already four cups in.

“They sure are...something,” he allowed, not bothering to glance back at Baz and the others, and her smile broadened.

“She is finding you most intriguing, also. Why so sad, little cat? Your ears are drooping. Adorable, but sad.” 

It occurred to him that he should be offended - both at the nickname and the comment about his ears - but he couldn’t muster the effort to be so, and instead just blinked back at her, slow and impassive.

The Tiefling’s grin was broad and wicked, and she leant across the table ever so slightly.

“Come, you can tell me. We are being friends, yes? She is being a good listener. Very good at advice.” There was a nudge at the back of Bramblepelt’s mind, and for a second his hackles rose, fur sticking up a little while his lips pulled back to expose fangs; before an odd blanket of calm replaced the suspicion, and he sank into his seat.

Of course. She was right, after all; they were friends. He could talk to her.

He shifted in his seat, reluctant even having remembered their friendship, before he let out a breath, staring back at his cup.

“I...I have been thinking of Sparrowflight, lately. Of how I miss him. Of...of how I little I know about where he is.”

A pale, long-fingered hand ducked into his vision, and the Tiefling touched her fingers to his chin, lifting his head so he would meet those strange, purple eyes.

“You love your Sparrowflight.” When Bramble nodded, she cocked her head, a corner of her mouth curling up. “You are being frightened he may be dead.”

Bramble’s hackles rose again, and he grit his teeth hard enough to hurt his jaw, glaring at her even as his mind told him to calm, to relax,  _ she’s your friend, you’ve known each other for so long, you can’t be angry with her, friend, friend, friend… _

The Tiefling just smiled more.

“Sweet little cat,” she murmured, and ran her knuckles over the fur of Bramble’s cheek gently, before moving to tug at the tuft of fur hanging over his forehead. “Such a sweet cat should not be so sad. She does not like to see such pretty, precious things looking so sad.”

She pet him a little more, fingers gentle while Bramble stared back at her, the soothing murmur in the back of his head at war with his instincts; before she offered him a soft, coy smirk.

“Would the sweet cat be liking some help? She could help you, if you are wanting it. Could find your missing love, your sweet Sparrowflight. The Lady likes to help sweet cats like you, sometimes. She could ask. Could see if She is feeling generous.”

A strange, desperate flutter of hope flooded Bramblepelt’s chest, and he caught the hand carding through his fur, squeezing her fingers too hard while he stared at her intently.

“You could help?” He demanded; and she grinned back at him, all teeth.

“Tell her your name, little cat. She should know on whose behalf she is asking favours.”

Bramble cleared his throat, too busy clinging to the hope she’d instilled to think on how, if they were such  _ good friends _ , she should have known his name. There were more important things;  _ Sparrowflight _ was more important.

“Bramble. Bramblepelt, I...my name is Bramblepelt.”

The Tiefling cocked her head, silvery curls bouncing with the movement.

“A pretty name for a pretty cat. She is being Syx. She is being pleased to meet lovely Bramble, and to help find his missing Sparrow.” She extricated her hand as she spoke, and reached to stroke his cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of his eye; before her eyes lifted, gaze focussing on something behind him, and a new, somewhat terrifying smile spread across her face.

Syx got to her feet, letting him go and reaching for the spear Bramble had only just noticed leaning against the side of the table - strangely shaped, shining steel with a tear-shaped moonstone set in the centre, beads and feathers hanging off the rope tying the blade to the shaft - before she turned a coy, oddly sweet smile on him.

“She will find you again, after asking after your Sparrow. Do not be too upset with her when the spell wears off; it is being just something she does.” She reached for him, touching her fingertips to his chin, and grinned at him, screwing up her nose. “Have fun with your intriguing friends, lovely Bramble. Syx will see you soon.”

Bramble watched her go; watched her sweep out of the tavern, pulling up her hood as she left, and watched the pair of Tieflings at at the table closest to the door get up and follow her; and then turned back to his drink, mind consumed with thoughts of Sparrowflight, and the strange promise he’d just received.

An hour later, when the spell wore off, he stared at the ceiling above his bed, trying to sort through the mess of lingering hope and building suspicion now he knew she’d  _ spelled him _ in order to make him talk; before he grit his teeth, and turned over in bed.

It didn’t matter. All said and done, she’d been relatively harmless; and regardless of any promises she had or hadn’t made wouldn’t stop him continuing to search for Sparrowflight.

_ And maybe _ , a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered,  _ just maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe Syx will find him. _

Either way.

It didn’t matter.


End file.
